Spring Awakening
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: Oneshot..."And you don't have to be pure as driven snow to be perfect, Mary. Gold is purified through fire, you know?"


**So, this was just a nugget that was floating around in my head. I was thinking...what if...**

**I hope you enjoy, and review. :-)**

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**Spring Awakening**

Mary knew that this conversation with Bert was inevitable. They'd been close friends, holiday companions, even occasionally partners in crime, for some years now. They were closer even than some of the married couples Mary worked for, in the way they trusted one another. So she knew the words 'I love you' were bound to come up, eventually.

Mary knew that Bert had feelings for her. She'd been able to see the adoration in his eyes the first day they'd met. When she was just a young girl out of finishing school and he was barely beyond selling papers on the street corner, she'd known he was taken by her. Mary wasn't surprised, because she was used to the reaction. She'd been captivating both men and women since she was a little girl. She was lovely and well-mannered, and she knew it. Still, she generally rebuffed all advances that came her way.

Mary Poppins had long since written off the idea of romance. She had better things to do, she thought, and she'd never found romantic love all that appealing. It seemed messy, confusing, and mostly selfish. And her experience with it had left her somewhat bitter, but mostly indifferent, to ever giving up her profession for love.

She'd always cherished Bert, however. She wasn't sure if it was because he was so genuine in his friendship, or because he never pressed her for what she couldn't give. Whatever the reasons, Bert had a place in her heart. Mary very much wanted him in her life. She was not so naïve, however, to think he would never, at some point, fall in love with her. It was merely a matter of time, and the time had come.

Bert had finally confronted Mary on her night off. She was on the rooftop, doing some thinking under the stars as she often did, when he approached her. Sitting down next to her, he looked at her with his soft, dark eyes and his rugged features that were somewhere between boyish and handsome.

Eventually, he said, "Before we're off for another night out, or perhaps just a chat…I've worked up my courage, Mary, to tell you…that...I love you."

She studied him, trying to decide how not to break his heart, if that was possible.

"I know it's probably impossible, for you to love me, Mary. I know…you 'ave important work to do. But I 'ad to say it. It seemed dishonest not to tell you…at some point…"

Mary gave him a little smile, and very carefully said, "I know, Bert. I've known for some time."

He looked disheartened, and answered, "Oh. Then…I suppose...we're destined just to be friends?"

Mary struggled momentarily, "I think so, Bert."

He thought for a moment, and then asked, "Is it…because you don't 'ave any feelings for me? Or because…your feelings aren't as important as your work?"

Mary took a deep breath, trying to sort out her words. She'd always hoped to make it through this conversation without too much confession. She'd hoped Bert's feelings were mostly superficial, and that he could say his piece and be content with friendship.

Carefully, she said, "I think…friendship is so much more enjoyable. Romance is not as satisfying as it seems. It disappoints, often greatly. I'd like not to taint our relationship with disappointment."

Bert cocked his head and looked discerning. With his often surprising intuitiveness, he asked, "'ave you dabbled in romance, Mary Poppins?"

She looked away, instantly regretting her choice of words.

There was a quiet pause, and then Bert said, "I am your friend, Mary. First, I am your friend. I can keep confidences. And I've always assumed you've 'ad suitors. You're too lovely not to 'ave been courted."

Mary looked back at him, "You flatter me too much, Bert."

"You're deserving," he smiled at her.

For some reason, the compliment felt wrong this time. Mary didn't feel deserving, and before she could stop herself, she said, "You think I really am without flaws, Bert. You believe in the perfection..."

He gave her a sweet smile, "Practically perfect in every way. It's 'ard to find an argument."

Mary looked away, studying the chimneys. She pulled her cherry-red coat around her slender frame against the cold. This was the reason she'd always avoided this conversation. She didn't want to lie to Bert, or to let him believe a lie, but she'd never felt quite so false as she did in this moment.

"You're as close to perfection as I've ever seen, Mary," Bert went on, "You're lovely, kind, honest, determined and 'ard working. You demand the best from people, and you're a woman of integrity. That's rare, Mary."

Mary felt something catch in her throat. As she stared out across the rooftops, she realized how distorted Bert's view of her really was. He was in love with a fantasy, and she knew that wasn't fair.

Before she could stop herself, Mary said, "You think I'm as virginal as Mary the Mother of Christ, Bert. You think I'm pure as driven snow, don't you?"

When she met his eyes, Bert looked altogether shocked.

Mary instantly regretted her words, and she felt her cheeks flush as she looked down at her hands.

There was a long pause before Bert said, "I suppose that would be an inappropriate thing for me to ask…"

There was an awkward moment, when neither of them was sure what to say. When the silence became too much to bear, Mary stood quickly to leave, saying, "This conversation has gone too far. I must be getting back. Again, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Bert."

She started towards the chimney, her usual method of accessing the roof, and Bert called out, "Mary! Please, wait!"

She didn't turn back. Mary was stopped only by Bert's hand on her wrist.

In a very bold gesture, he held onto her hand and said, "We are friends, Mary. The best of friends. And I'd like to think…that you can trust me…"

Mary stood very still, staring into the sky.

Bert tried again, "Even if there's no romance for us in the future, I still love you Mary Poppins. I am still your friend, and I doubt there's anything you could tell me that would change that."

Mary was still silent.

Bert sighed, "If we're never to be lovers, Mary, then what 'arm is there in telling me about your life? It can't be easy…keeping everyone at such a distance…especially when I know 'ow much you really care…"

Something snapped in Mary, then. In spite of herself, she couldn't deny that Bert was a very devoted friend. He was loyal and honest, and he deserved the same from her, if nothing else. If she couldn't give him her heart, she could at least give him a real friendship. So Mary turned and crossed back to where they'd been sitting. Silently, she sat down again. Bert hesitantly sat down beside her, curious.

After a moment, Mary began to talk, "When you first met me, Bert, I was just out of finishing school. I was educated, well-groomed, and knew what I wanted in this world. I'd already been shaped by my experiences. But…I was not always so confident. I was once a young girl, Bert. And I was courted, promised, even…"

Mary continued to tell her story, as Bert listened. She lost herself in it a little, going back to one of the most difficult days in her life. She had been in her first year of finishing school, living away from home on an all-female campus. Her mother had sent her away to finish her education after a stoic and demanding childhood.

Mary's father had died when she was just seven. She remembered him as jovial and devoted, and he always seemed to have a touch of magic at hand. Mary had thought it was the starry-eyed memories of a child, until she'd discovered her own strange abilities. Of course, they came only after her father's death, and her mother never tried to explain. Mary knew that her father had always been a bit odd, and her mother was often on a mission to make him meld better with society. She had dreams of being socially elite, and hosting dinner parties that drew the brightest and best.

However, the death of Mary's father changed their lifestyle drastically, and Mary often wondered if her mother resented the entire experience of marriage and childbearing. She often felt the burden of being merely a reminder of her father, and a reinforcement of the resentment her mother felt. If anything, Mary's mother denied and squelched her daughter's gift of magic. She never seemed quite satisfied with her only child. She kept Mary sheltered and saw that she was well-bred, but there was little nurturing. She always seemed a bit afraid, or embarassed, at her daughter's unusual talents.

So Mary was happy to be away at school. She was grateful for the experience, and she knew she had a chance at a good future. She would graduate a well-groomed, educated woman set to make a perfect bride. She would have the knowledge to make conversation at political dinners or accompany her husband to cultural events. Mary was set to have a life most young girls in London dreamed of, and she also had the perfect man.

Edward had been courting her since adolescence, as their parents had been mutual friends. He was cultured and well-mannered, and wealthy enough that Mary's mother saw, in him, the potential to restore some of their social status. Therefore, Ms. Poppins had encouraged his affections for Mary for years. By the time Mary left for finishing school, their relationship was well-established.

The day that would forever be imprinted on Mary's mind was just a few weeks into her first year at school. She was settling into her new surroundings, just outside of London, and was doing well. That fall afternoon, Edward paid her a visit. He met her just outside her dormitory at noon on a day as bright as Mary had ever seen. He took her for a picnic in the park on the outskirts of campus, with the permission of her dorm mother. He assured the watchful woman that he and Mary would be in a public place, and Mary sensed her mother might've had a hand in getting permission for Mary to go on such an outing.

Edward took her to a rather secluded section of the park, and presented her with a beautiful spread of fruits and fresh pastries. Mary remembered that she'd been wearing a pale, yellow dress that set off her dark hair. It was corseted, with a flowing skirt and a lovely hat that matched. Edward helped her settle onto the blanket he'd brought and he offered her tea.

Then, he said, "Your mother's given her permission…for us to be married."

Mary just looked at him, startled.

"Not that it was uncertain. We've been on this path for some time now, don't you think?"

Mary wasn't sure what to say, because he'd said it in such a way that she didn't feel there was a choice.

"Come on, Mary…aren't you glad?" Edward asked expectantly.

And she was. She was delighted that someone like Edward wanted to marry her. Mary wasn't sure exactly why she hesitated, because she knew this was the best future she could hope for.

Sensing her hesitation, Edward said, "I do love you, Mary. We make sense together. We're both bred for greatness."

It was an appealing idea, Mary conceded. She would like to think there was greatness in her future.

Edward reached out and took her hand, "Do you want to marry me?"

Mary nodded very slowly.

"Do you agree that you've been mine for some time?"

Mary couldn't argue.

"Will you…let me show you how much I love you?" Edward asked softly.

Mary looked at him, uncertain.

Edward leaned in then, and kissed her. It was her first real kiss, on the lips. He'd kissed her hand or her cheek before, but never her lips. And never like this. Mary felt her heart flutter as he pressed one hand behind her head and lingered in the kiss.

When he pulled away, he said, "We're right together, Mary. Don't you feel it?"

And she had to admit, she felt a lot of things. Mary let him kiss her several more times, because it was a bit addictive. Her body flushed, and she was alarmed and amazed at the strange sensations.

Mary's mother had never been one to expound greatly on the physical relationship between a man and a woman. In her mind, a proper lady didn't discuss such things. So Mary was left to wonder what drew couples to one another, other than social position and the hope for a family. Even then, she wasn't entirely sure how that family was achieved. Mary was naïve, but she trusted that her mother knew best and that Edward would guide her.

So, that day, Mary wasn't prepared for Edward's seduction. She lost herself a little bit in the moment, amazed that he could make her feel so good. She trusted him, and assumed that she was always safe with this person who'd been her friend since childhood.

Sitting under the trees, away from everyone, Edward kissed her more deeply, more urgently. He pulled her hat from her head and tossed it away. He pressed Mary back onto the wool blanket he'd brought and gently ran his hands over her body. She melted into it, transfixed. Then, he ran his hand underneath her skirt and up her thigh. Mary pulled back, hesitant.

Sensing her alarm, Edward said, "It's all right. We're promised to each other. We're to be married. This simply seals the promise."

Mary started to protest.

"Mary," he interjected, "your mother expected this. This is what happens…when you're to be married. Why else would she let you have the afternoon away from your dorm mother?"

Mary could think of no argument.

So Edward pressed her back onto the blanket, and kissed her again. He worked his kisses down her neck, and she couldn't argue that it felt wonderful. Mary let herself innocently indulge her newly awakened sexuality at the hands of someone she trusted. She let Edward unbutton her dress and trail kisses across her breasts. She let him lift her petticoats and touch her body beneath, gasping at how he drew such intoxicating feelings from within her. She assumed it was because they loved one another, that he could make her feel in such a way.

Mary let herself get a bit lost in Edward's touch, feeling safe with him, until his trousers were undone and he'd pressed himself inside of her. Her eyes flicked open, then, as she moved against her. Suddenly, she was afraid. In spite of how her body had ached for him, Mary felt as though he owed her more explanation. She felt like he was taking from her, and she didn't know she'd had this to give. He was also hurting her. Mary whimpered a little, but he kept on, unhindered. She even tried to protest a little, but Edward was engrossed in his own enjoyment. So Mary closed her eyes, and let him have her virginity.

When he was through, Edward kissed her hard on the lips and did up his trousers. She fixed her buttons and her petticoats, and he lay next to her, staring. Eventually, Mary sat up, feeling heavy in her spirit.

"Edward," she said softly, "did you intend to hurt me?"

He looked surprised and a bit annoyed, "Lovemaking doesn't hurt, Mary."

"But…it did," she argued quietly.

He looked indifferent, "You'll get used to it, then."

Edward said nothing further, and Mary felt hollow. She felt an abiding sense of regret, but she wasn't sure why. She felt betrayed, but couldn't say how.

So she continued to let Edward make love to her, when he came to visit her at school. She made no protest, assuming it was normal, assuming it was expected. She tried to enjoy it, as he seemed to. She tried to love him the way she used to, but their relationship felt off balance, now. Mary had the sensibility to realize, somewhere in her spirit, that she was being robbed.

Then, a few months later, when she visited the infirmary for a stomach flu, the doctor told her she was with child. He assured her there was no mistake, and she might consider a quick wedding, lest she be expelled from school. Mary was shocked to her core, and terrified.

Edward had agreed to marry her immediately, because he was still a man of some character. And she believed that he did, in some way, love her. Mary's mother simply gave her pinched glances as they had a dress fitted and organized a service. Her schoolmates, if they knew the real reason for her sudden marriage, said nothing. They congratulated Mary and mostly assumed she wanted to start her life as the wife of a desirable bachelor.

At this point in the telling of her story, Mary's voice caught. Bert watched her as she looked at the sky, and said, "But...I lost the child. Miscarriage...as they call it. I went to the doctor, bleeding and terrified, and he sent me to the hospital. There was nothing I could do…"

Bert just listened.

"Edward offered to still marry me. His answer was that it was inevitable, anyway. He didn't see the need for school, for that matter. And I think my mother just wanted to know that I was under someone's thumb…having legitimate babies."

There was another long silence.

Mary went on, "I decided then not to get married. I decided that I would never again lose control of myself or my future. I realized, Bert, that the only person who would take care of me…is me. So I chose to live on my own. I chose to help families be a little better, and to love the children. Children love innocently, and they rarely manipulate. What I do makes a great difference, and I have taught myself to be very discerning. I am not naïve, and I will not be fooled. Romance is selfish, Bert, and I have greater things to do with my life."

Mary turned her attention to her hands, then, not sure what else to say.

"Mary…" Bert started, "I would never 'ave guessed…"

She lifted her chin, "I'm not your perfect fantasy anymore, am I?"

Bert reached out and very gently took Mary's hand. With her fingers entwined with his, he looked in her eyes and said, "I'm very sorry that 'appened to you."

She gave a little smile, "You are a good friend, Bert."

"That's because I love you, Mary. Just as you are. If you want me to love you as my best friend, so be it. You deserve a true friend, considering all you do. Romance might be selfish sometimes, but true love gives, Mary."

They sat there for another moment in silence, their hands clasped together. Bert leaned back against the roof gable behind him and, eventually, Mary let herself lean against him. At first, she simply leaned into his shoulder, but it seemed so natural to put her head in the crook of his neck. Mary turned her body into his, and put her hand on his chest.

They stayed like that for a long time, comfortable with one another. As she felt the beat of Bert's heart beneath her hand, Mary felt a yearning. She realized, suddenly, that wasn't sure she could live without Bert. He'd never kissed her, never pressed his advantage with her, and never demanded more than she would give. Even now, after declaring he loved her, he didn't press her. And she realized that she loved him, too. In being so opposed to the idea of romantic love, this feeling had snuck up on her. She'd never imagined that love could be an extension of friendship, of a natural give and take between two people who just made sense. Mary had never thought love could be so…simple.

Feeling a sudden fluttering in her stomach, she was afraid.

"Bert," she asked hesitantly, not looking up at him, "have you ever wanted to kiss me?"

Bert took a moment, and then said, "Mary…I want to kiss you silly. I want to kiss you with everything in me. But…don't do that for me. I don't want it…if you're only doing it for me."

Mary pulled back and looked at him, looking for the sincerity. Bert looked back at her, his face an open book of genuine kindness.

"I want you to know, Mary," he said softly, "that I don't think any less of you. If anything, I think you're stronger than I imagined. And you don't 'ave to be pure as driven snow to be perfect. Gold is purified through fire, you know?"

Mary's breath caught at his statement. It was so sweet, so honest and thoughtful that she could cry. For all her solidarity, she felt weak. For a moment, she was paralyzed by fear. Leaning in, she took Bert's face in her hands. Very gently, she kissed his lips, fighting fear as she did so. Then, after a moment, she wound her arms around his neck and let him kiss her silly. Mary let him kiss her until her whole body felt like molten lava. She kissed him until she ached and she was afraid she couldn't pull away.

When Bert finally pulled back, she was trembling.

"Mary…we have a lifetime," he kissed her cheek softly, "why not enjoy the stars, tonight?"

He leaned back against the gable and Mary realized, in that moment, that love also shows respect. As she leaned back against Bert, with her head under his chin and her hand on his heart, she understood she would always have him. Whether they were lovers or friends, no matter what the next step might be, she would have Bert. He loved her in the purest, most selfless way. He loved genuinely, which is why no confession she could make could change it. So she clung to him.

And before she went inside for the night, she let him kiss her silly one more time.


End file.
